


Her Majesty

by executrix



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:12:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romance blossoms during a game of Strip Bid Whist. A very moral tale about the evils of sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Majesty

_And pot was totally legal (though I probably won't stress that). (In fact, forget I said it.)_ "A Brief History of the Universe Circa 2507 A.D." [Serenity: The Official Visual Companion p. 12]

 **1.**  
Simon sat up and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. "Whahappen?" he said.

Wash stared in embarrassment, or **something** as more and more of Simon slid out from under the blanket. To Wash's relief, or something, Simon was wearing gray sweatpants.

"Oh, hell, Simon, I'm sorry to wake you up, I thought you just came in here for a little peace and quiet, which come to think of it, being asleep would definitely constitute, although depending on your dreams, some of Zoe's are real sockdolagers…" To talk, Wash had to transfer the extra-long, blimp-width joint from between his teeth to between his fingers.

"Sit down," Simon said hospitably, climbing out of bed, smoothing back the blanket and sheet, and sitting down on the floor.

"River being asleep and all—I checked on the way over, she's fine—I have just delivered most of the latest crop of the Intra-Engine Hydroponic Hemp Plantation to Inara, and she has certified that it meets her exacting client-relaxation standards." Wash clinked the credit disks in his pocket. "And I have already provided the good Reverend with some meditation assistance. I didn't think you'd want River to have any drugs—well, any more drugs…"

"No," Simon said. "She already rattles when she walks. From the pills. And sloshes, from the injections." He rested his elbow on the bed, his chin on his hand, and looked up at Wash. "What strains do you grow?"

Wash took a giant hit and passed the joint over to Simon.

"Mostly Beaumonde Beauty," Wash said. "Under tailored spectrum lights, of course, all layered clones, heavy buds, what have you."

Simon, growing increasingly purple and making small sounds that sounded like giggles but were an attempt to not outright cough, passed back the smoking materials. "That is **excellent** ," he said gravely.

Wash took a quick hit and began to worry about the ashes. There was a small round tin on the night table. "Is this an experiment?" he asked, then blushed, because it occurred to him it could be the equivalent of the infamous ubiquitous bottle of hand lotion.

"No," Simon said. "It's the top of the shoe polish." He grinned at the spectacle of Wash's hand trailing colored sparklers as the joint made another trip.

"What was that thing, y'know, with Jayne…dragonflies?" Wash said.

"Ohmychristyes," Simon said, and they laughed so hard that Simon was pounding his fist on the bed and remembered just in time that the blanket was going to ignite. "Cats with dragonflies," Simon said, stroking the air where a fairly large cat could have been. He looked up at Wash again. "A **hypothetical** cat with dragonfleas. Big striped soft one. With the long fur. Not the fleas of course. The cat. Fleas—do not—have fur. I don't want you to think that I'm hallucinating and get worried about it. No. I have my head on the ground and I am pretending in a controlled manner that there could theoretically be a cat."

"Except, if the cat we don't have is in a box, I will not **allow** it to be dead," Wash said.

"'Read my lips, no dead catses,'" Simon said, because he thought he read it over a public building somewhere once.

The floor was spinning, and Simon thought he could practically read the life history of every strand of the tatami mat digging into his back, so he started to climb hand-over-hand up Wash's leg, stopping with his chin resting on Wash's knee.

"I'm glad you're here," Simon said, his outflung arm indicating "Here on Serenity" or "Here in the 'Verse," not just "sitting here on my bed." "Because it could get lonely. Otherwise. But you love somebody too."

There was a half-naked young man suspended from Wash's knee and it was beginning to worry him that in the past when he got the munchies it was for, say, ChokOaty Slices.

"River doesn't look like you," Wash said.

"Not very much, no. And she's graceful. She doesn't drop things."

"Well, she would if she was as toasted as we are," Wash said.

Then the Comm went and the Shepherd's soothing voice rolled across the ship. "Wash, if you're in your own rack, just ignore this message. Otherwise get in here and bring that big Bible from the dining table."

"What the fuck?" Simon said. "Shepherd Book called you in the middle of the night because he wants a **bedtime story**?"

"Read us lots out of temptation," said the Comm. "The **special** Hell."

"Kinda just the opposite, I think," Wash said, saved by the bell (Book and candle).

Mal looked up from the ledger he was wrestling with. "Gorram stoners," he muttered.

 **2.**  
"Wasn't it worth the wait?" Mal asked the following night, pouring enough litchee squash into each mug to make the homebrew marginally palatable.

"We understand, sir," Zoe said soothingly. "Not usually the best policy to have the whole crew trashed at once."

"Statue of me," Jayne said reminiscently, lighting a cigar even though it had been established over and over again that a cigar didn't count as a wardrobe item. He also wore his sheepskin-lined leather helmet and goggles. Attempts had been made to inculcate ideals of Sportsmanship, but they all just gave up after a while.

"Best evidence I could think of, right there," Zoe said.

"Did I put enough barley in this time?" Kaylee asked. "Last time, I don't think there was enough barley. Too much, the time before."

"Too soon to tell," Mal said. "If we're knee-walkin' drunk by the end of tonight and not dead tomorrow, answer's prolly yes."

Jayne cut the cards.

"You better not have been carryin' those around in your pants," Zoe said.

"You can carry 'em around in your bra next month," Jayne said.

Zoe slammed down the contents of her mug, but put her hand over it when Mal started to tip in another shot. "I kind of want to hold off the part of the evening when I can see two of Jayne."

Mal froze, the stone jug still close to vertical. "Kaylee?"

Kaylee giggled. "One more of these and I'll be under the doctor."

"Bet you won't," Jayne said. He started to deal.

Two hands and three drinks later, Kaylee put her head down and started to sob. "Bet I won't neither," she said.

"Nice work, dumbass," Mal said, carefully walking around the table to pat Kaylee on the shoulder. She lifted her tear-stained face, and a glorious grin lit up her eyes. "Why did I even really want to?" she said, and stumbled toward the pile of clothing (established as far as practical from the table, because it always had at least one of Jayne's socks in it).

A few minutes after she left, Mal said, "Zo? Do you think you should go hold her head for her?"

"She'll be fine," Zoe said to Mal and both Jaynes.

Kaylee rattled at the shoji screen to River's room. "River!" she yelled, and nothing happened, and then she discovered she hadn't been talking out loud, but that was OK anyway. The door opened. River held a calligraphy brush in one hand. "Kaylee, you're wearing Jayne's t-shirt. With your head stuck through one of the sleeves."

Kaylee tugged at the knit. "No wonder it's so tight."

"And you have Zoe's bra over your arm."

"We was playin' Strip Bid Whist. Wanna see whose underwear I'm wearing?"

"I wouldn't mind, but it's one of those unanswerable questions because you're not wearing any."

"You and Simon are two different people."

"I can't disagree with you there."

"Thought I was in love with him but that was the wrong one of you."

"Well, **yuh** " River said. "I figured that out, like, three weeks ago. And **I'm** crazy."

**Author's Note:**

>  _Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl,  
>  But she hasn't got a lot to say.  
> Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl,  
> But she changes from day to day.  
> I want to tell her that I love her a lot,  
> But I've got to have a bellyfull of wine.  
> Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl,  
> Today I'm gonna make her mine, oh yeah,  
> Today I'm gonna make her mine._ (Beatles song)


End file.
